Dangerous Kisses (6 page)

She flipped through her choices until she came to the back of the closet. And there it was, the perfect way to take a stab at the uncaring Detective Radley. He might not have meant anything when he kissed her, but she’d make him wish he had.

Jake glanced at his watch, then shook his head. Half an hour after kissing Sydney on impulse and his heart still thundered as if he’d run to Memphis and back. What the hell had he been thinking when he’d kissed her, and in front of his mother?

He hadn’t been thinking, that was the problem.

She drove him to extremes — frustration, anger and now desire. It’d taken every last ounce of his strength to pull away from her and then act as if the feel of her body next to him, the taste of her willing lips beneath his, hadn’t affected him in the least. Quite frankly, it scared him nearly to death how much he wanted to be near Sydney. While he sometimes wanted to throttle her, she drew him like a sorceress.

Jake closed his eyes and rubbed his hand down his face. When he opened his eyes again, he wandered around the room. Her living room pointed to how she spent her free time. Crammed bookshelves sat against three walls. He scanned the spines. All mysteries. Everything from Agatha Christie to Tony Hillerman.

He sauntered over to the one wall free of books, where the entertainment center sat covered with framed photographs. He stepped closer and examined the unknown faces — well, unknown except for Sydney’s. One shot in particular drew his attention. Sydney as a child, smiling ear to ear, with her cheek pressed next to that of a woman who looked exactly like Sydney did now. It had to be her mother.

Jake glanced toward the bedroom door behind which Sydney had disappeared even before he’d reached her apartment. What was taking her so long? For such a no-nonsense kind of person, she sure took a long time to get ready.

He still couldn’t believe he’d opened his mouth and invited her to the annual mayor’s dinner. Truth was he hated these things. He had to get dressed up, smile at a bunch of higher-ups, pretend he liked to dance when the mayor’s or a councilman’s daughter somehow ushered him onto the dance floor. And worst of all – watching his mother fight tears when they read the names of fallen officers. If his mother didn’t insist on going every year, he might find a way to be otherwise occupied. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have cases to work on.

And now Sydney would be there to see it all. He’d not lied when he said he wanted her protected, but he had colleagues he could call on. Why did he feel responsible for her? Because two women were already dead and he got sick thinking of her becoming number three. He was responsible for her protection, nothing more.

Movement from beyond the bedroom door drew him out of his mental ramblings. He fought the urge to step through that door and kiss Sydney again. He opened the sliding glass door and stepped out onto the balcony for some fresh air. To try to clear his mind of kisses that engulfed his body in flames he was helpless to control.

The desire to run out of Sydney’s apartment tempted him, but the need to protect her kept him glued where he stood. He had to figure out a way to keep her safe while not allowing himself to get any closer to her.

She’s a reporter. All she wants is the story. He had to remember that. Convince himself of that.

The door to her bedroom opened. Jake took a deep breath before stepping back inside. It did little good because the sight of her knocked it out of him again.

Dear Lord, she was beautiful standing there in a cherry-red dress that fit her body like a silky second skin. A fiery ache started in the pit of his stomach and radiated outward. He clasped his fists against the urge to run his hands over all that shiny fabric and the exposed shoulders above it. She’d piled all that wonderful blond hair atop her head, accentuating her slender neck, a lovely neck he wanted to kiss up one side and down the other.

"What’s wrong, Detective? Did you think I was going in a sweatsuit?"

He noticed the glint in her eyes, a teasing, knowing look that told him she’d dressed this way on purpose.

"I was just wondering why it always takes women so long to change clothes."

"You can’t expect perfection in thirty seconds flat."

He’d swear she batted her lashes at him, flirting as if he could be dragged easily into her web like so many before him doubtless had. Well, she didn’t give him enough credit.

"You think pretty highly of yourself, don’t you?" he said as he moved away from her. There, let her chew on that for awhile. He wandered over to her immense book collection. "I guess you read a lot when you’re not out chasing ambulances."

When she didn’t respond, he turned back toward her. For a moment, she kept her gaze averted, staring out the sliding glass door. Damn, had he hurt her feelings? That hadn’t been his intention. Just as he started to step toward her, she turned her attention to him.

"I’m sorry, did you say something?"

In a split second, she’d hidden what he knew lay just beneath the surface. She had feelings, and he’d stabbed them in an attempt to regain the upper hand. He could be a class A jerk sometimes without even trying.

"I was just commenting on how many mysteries you have," he said as he looked away and motioned toward the bookshelves.

"Oh, yeah. I started with Nancy Drew and didn’t stop. I think I have every mystery I’ve ever read. I guess I like them so much because the good guys always win."

Once again, her expression revealed more than her words. Some deeper meaning laced her comment, but he kept himself from asking what. If he asked, he’d endanger his vow not to get closer to her. He had to protect her, nothing more.

"We better get going," he said.

She nodded, grabbed a wrap for her shoulders, then followed him out the door. Within ten minutes, they’d reached the lake and his boat.

"What are we doing here?" Sydney asked.

"It’s where I live."

She leaned forward as if doing so would make a house materialize beyond the car. "You live on a boat?"

"Yeah. What’s wrong with that?"

"Nothing, I...it’s just not what I pictured."

"Did you think I lived in a cave?"

"Well, no."

"Come on. We’re going to be late."

"I’ll just sit out here and wait."

He looked over at her. Was she nervous, or was she up to something?

"Oh no, you don’t. I’m not letting you out of my sight."

To his surprise, she didn’t argue. Maybe she’d had second thoughts about sitting in the parking lot by herself. Good, he needed to encourage that sense of caution.

He led the way to his boat. When they reached the side, however, she stopped and looked down at her long, straight dress then back up at him. Before he could talk himself out of it, he swooped her up into his arms and stepped over the side of the boat. But when he could set her on her feet again, he didn’t. Instead, his gaze locked with hers. Why did she feel so damn right in his arms? He swallowed hard as he fought the urge to say to hell with the dinner and carry her inside to his bed. Her lips were so close. He’d only have to lean toward her the merest bit.

"You can put me down now." Her words brought him back to his senses. He plopped her down a little harder than he intended, then headed into the cabin. By the time she followed, he was unbuttoning his shirt.

"I suggest you turn around unless you want an eyeful," he said.

She presented him with her back. "Who’s thinking highly of himself now?" she asked, a bit of teasing in her tone. Good, teasing. That he could handle. Looks of hurt and longing, he couldn’t.

"No bragging. Just the honest truth, ma’am."

She snickered. He watched her shoulders tremble with her laughter, wanted to skim his hands over that delicate skin.

"So, really, why do you live on a boat?"

"I don’t know. It’s easy. I like the freedom, I guess."

She chuckled. "That’s such a guy answer."

"Well, I’m a guy, in case you haven’t noticed."

"Let’s see. You’re bossy, a pain to work with, and you can take your house out for a spin. Yep, you’re a guy."

"What’s that supposed to mean?" he asked as he pulled his nicest black suit from the closet.

"Just that you all don’t like to be tied down. Although living on a boat is a little more extreme than I’m used to. Most guys just have an apartment."

"Yeah, well, rent for a boat slip is a lot cheaper."

"I can see where that’d be a plus."

"What about you? I don’t see you with a little white house, picket fence and a tribe of blond kids."

She hesitated before responding, making him wonder if he’d hit another sore spot. Why couldn’t he just shut up?

"You’re not the only one who’s married to their career," she said.

Is that something she embraced or regretted? Without being able to look into her eyes, he couldn’t tell. Don’t ask, Radley. You’ll get too close.

Her solitude must be by choice. Otherwise, she could have a whole line of men waiting to ask her out. She had beauty and smarts, an irresistible combination — at least to him.

"Well, this is as good as it gets," he said.

When Sydney turned, he watched her eyes for any hint that she might feel even a fraction of the attraction tugging at him. Her eyes widened almost imperceptibly but not enough for him to read her.

"You clean up okay, Detective."

"I’ll try not to let that compliment go to my head."

She smiled at him, an unrestrained smile that squeezed something deep inside of him.

Jake moved past her and up the stairs before that smile made him say or do something stupid. He lifted her up onto the dock and left her to follow on her own as he walked toward the car. He had to get to the dinner so he could disappear into the crowd. If he’d stayed one minute longer with her inside the boat, he didn’t think he’d have been able to keep his hands off her. He needed to be around other cops, other guys, so he’d remember what was really important. Catching a sick killer who roamed the streets and preyed on innocent young women. Not the yearning to taste all the flavors Sydney Blackburn’s body had to offer.

The three of them made it to the dinner just as the mayor was beginning his welcome speech. Jake led his mother to their assigned table and borrowed an unused chair for Sydney. Throughout dinner, his mother engaged Sydney in chitchat, and he mumbled an appropriate response when necessary. With each passing moment, he grew more uncomfortable. Finally, the mayor began his annual presentation of medals. The closer the mayor got to the end of the recipients, the faster Jake’s heart beat. He had to get out of here.

"I’ll be back in a moment," he said as he started to stand.

"Oh, Jake, can’t you wait a few more minutes?" his mother asked, the hint of tears already welling in her eyes. Even after all these years, the pain still haunted her.

His dedication to his mother outweighing his need to flee, he sat down and stared straight ahead, past the mayor’s head to the blue curtain hanging behind him.

Sydney leaned close to him, and her flowery scent tickled his nose. "What’s wrong?"

"Nothing," he choked out, trying not to sound rude but not inviting further questions either.

"And now it’s time to pay tribute to those officers who have fallen in the line of duty," the mayor said. His voice faded as the roaring increased in Jake’s ears. Every few seconds, a name would filter through to Jake’s consciousness. Damn it, the list was always in alphabetical order, making him wait forever for his father’s name.

"Hank Radley, who died valiantly saving the lives of three children held hostage," the mayor said.

Jake heard his mother sniffle, but he didn’t look her direction. Why did she always want to come to this dinner, to relive that horrible day when her husband’s death had been headline news? It only made her sad. He should comfort her, but he couldn’t force himself to move. And he hated himself for his weakness.

Something touched his hand, startling him out of the past. He looked down to see Sydney’s hand squeezing his. Against his better judgement, he met her eyes and saw concern there. He almost accepted it, but he refused to let her know how much she tempted him — not only her body but also the possibility that she might care, just a little.

He stood so quickly, his chair almost toppled backward. Without a word, he fled the room and marched straight toward the men’s room. There he’d be safe from his mother’s sorrow and Sydney’s wide green eyes. Safe from his need to squeeze her hand in return and pull her more fully into his life.

****

Her very soul told Sydney to follow Jake, but she remained in her chair. He’d made his disdain of her clear when he’d tossed off her hand like a pesky fly. She watched him as he disappeared from the ballroom, her heart aching for something she’d never had and never would. Something she’d never dared to want.

"He’ll be back in a few minutes, dear," Lou Anne said.

Sydney forced her face into a smile, though she’d rarely felt less like smiling, before turning back toward Jake’s mother. Lou Anne’s eyes still shone brightly with unshed tears. Sydney refocused her concern on the older woman, hoping she’d be willing to accept it.

"I’m so sorry. I had no idea."

"I’m not surprised. Jake never talks about his father."

Though part of her whispered she shouldn’t wade into Jake’s life any farther, she asked, "Why not?"

"He was extremely close to his father, being an only child and all. He took his death really hard, and he’s been trying to live up to his father’s reputation ever since."

"I take it your husband was a decorated officer."

"Oh, yes, Hank lived and breathed police work. To a boy, it was all so exciting. You should have seen the light in Jake’s eyes when he was little. He couldn’t wait for his father to get home so he could hear all about his day." Lou Anne paused and sighed. "I haven’t seen that light in his eyes in twenty-two years." Lou Anne looked up at Sydney and smiled. "Although I think I saw it earlier today when he looked at you."

Sydney almost objected, nearly told Lou Anne that she’d been mistaken. But she didn’t have the heart to crush the older woman’s vain hope that something had rekindled her son’s spirit. Sydney glanced back toward the doorway through which Jake had retreated and tried not to wish Lou Anne’s words held a grain of truth.

It was all for the best anyway. The last thing she needed in her life was a bossy man telling her what to do. She’d grown up with one goal above all others — to maintain complete control over her life. She’d had no control over the loss of her mother to violence or the loss of her father to heart disease, and she refused to ever feel that helpless again. Or to open herself up to the type of sorrow her father had endured after her mother’s murder.